


Toward Your Arms

by seleneheart



Series: The Empty Quarter [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blanket Permission, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27734416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seleneheart/pseuds/seleneheart
Summary: Special Agent Jenny Shepard is having a bad day. Her shoes are killing her and there's a strange Marine in the Director's office going through her team's personnel files.
Relationships: Anthony DiNozzo/Jethro Gibbs
Series: The Empty Quarter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028289
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120





	Toward Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to The Empty Quarter, time-line deviations from canon, but it's AU anyway.

While his subordinate reels off the information he’d sought, the blue-eyed man runs a rough thumb over the well-creased paper. Most of the words are lost to ceaseless folding and re-folding, but the only word that means anything is still legible.

_Yours_

He taps a finger on the word, trying to absorb its meaning through his pores, hoping that he’s correct. “I think it’s time.”

~~***~~

“Director Vance is looking for you.”

Special Agent in Charge Jenny Shepard tenses. She’s already on edge from spending the morning testifying at a court martial. Director Vance is really the last person she wants to see. He could at least give her a chance to kick off her heels.

Back stiff and straight, she marches up the stairs. In Vance’s reception area, a man sits in one of the chairs, a pile of files at his feet. She recognizes McGee’s file and realizes that the rest are personnel files. The stranger has a military aura for all he’s wearing civies. 

“Go on in,” Cynthia says. “He’s been waiting for you.”

Bristling at the implied criticism, Jen entertains the satisfyingly savage fantasy that her pumps are knife blade stilettos that slash the Director’s carpet to shreds with every step.

“Ah, Jenny,” Vance says. “How was court?”

“Fine,” she responds. “Who is that man and why does he have my team’s files?”

The Director pours himself a glass of water from the carafe on his credenza.

“His name is Lawrence Gibson and he’s got quite a story.”

“Do tell,” she grits.

“Gulf War veteran, finished his tour and got his discharge. Discovered that he’d got sand in his blood though, so he’s been knocking around Saudi ever since.”

“Fascinating.”

The Director gives her a look that says her sarcasm is bordering on insubordination. Jen refuses to lower her eyes and he looks away first. They both know his job should have been hers. ‘Not enough fieldwork’ her perky ass.

“Hmm. Yes. He walked into our offices in Bahrain about six months ago, offering his services.”

“What services?”

“Intel. Contacts. As I said . . . he’s been living around the Gulf for years.”

“Why would a civilian get involved?”

“I couldn’t tell you. I’m gonna assume he’s being a patriotic American.”

“How can we possibly trust him?”

“He checked out. And he’s been golden for that office. You know how much Dobson’s cleared case percentage has shot up.”

“So we’re bringing him here?”

The Director shifts the blasted toothpick to the other side of his mouth. Sometimes she imagines him choking on it, and it piercing his esophagus. She thinks that she will try very hard to hide her glee while delivering him to Ducky.

“Not exactly. He’s requested an agent to liaise with him. Out there. Make things easier.”

“We’re not giving him one of ours.”

“Yes, we are. SecNav has ordered our complete cooperation. Gibson is reviewing the files to make his choice.”

“That’s insane. None of these agents would throw their careers away on something like that.”

“They’ll go where they’re told.”

“He’s an outsider.” She wants to stamp her foot or throw something at him. The whole idea is ludicrous. 

“Jen. He’s embedded. And more completely than we could ever manage. They know him. He’s part of the furniture. We could never hope to have that.”

“This is unprecedented,” she complains. “Does he even have a security clearance?”

Vance sits back, relaxing in his padded chair. “He does now.”

She tries to think, to marshal the perfect argument, but he cuts her off.

“It’s not up for discussion. This was a courtesy.”

She isn’t done, but she decides to shut up. Maybe that Gibson character will pick someone she won’t mind losing.

“Send him in, Cynthia,” Vance says, keying the intercom.

Jen pays more attention this time, determined to find and exploit any visible weaknesses.

“Mr. Gibson . . . Special Agent Shepard.”

His grip is firm but not painful. His eyes are sharp and blue. While a thick and twisted scar distorts the left side of his head, it doesn’t take anything away from the shine of his silver hair, merely enhances it. As Jenny observes him, she feels her ovaries give a little twitch. That hasn’t happened in a while. Silver hair, bright blue eyes, and weathered skin from outdoor living make a very attractive picture. Strength and power. Maybe he really is who he claims to be. She wonders how hard it would be to kick his legs out from under him before he leaves D.C. She hasn’t had a man like him between her thighs in a long time.

“Have you made your decision?” Vance asks.

“Yes. Special Agent DiNozzo will do fine.”

“DiNozzo?” Jenny sputters. “You can’t take DiNozzo! He’s my senior agent.”

The man doesn’t say anything, just regards her calmly. He makes her feel like she did when she was fourteen and on the verge of the mother of all temper tantrums. Jenny’s face heats up and curses her pale skin that reveals everything. She decides she hates him.

“What about Nikki Jardine? She’s fluent in Arabic and has many contacts in the Middle East.”

“No offense, m’am, but she’s female. Need someone who can operate independently.”

Jen can’t decide if the m’am is insulting or hot. Having a man like him at her feet will be a hell of a rush, even if he’s the most annoying man she’s ever met. 

“She’s already conducted a successful investigation in Iraq. She didn’t report any problems.”

“Mr. Gibson has a point. Much as we might not like it, we have to deal with the reality of the situation. Besides, I believe when she was in Iraq, DiNozzo was along to babysit. She’s not ready for anything like this in any case.”

“Director, I believe we’ve discussed what I think Agent DiNozzo’s long term assignment should be.”

She isn’t willing to mention such a sensitive undercover op to this man who is still an unknown to her mind.

Vance waves his hand at her in dismissal, and she feels her face flushing in anger, adding to the crimson already there. She needs a martini. And a hot, young thing with more muscles than brains. 

“Excuse me, but he’s perfect for the job. Handsome, unattached, the best possible trap for Jeanne Benoit,” she retorts.

“And I’ve told you my reservations about you proposal. You haven’t been able to show me that Benoit has any connection to La Grenoille.”

Apparently they don’t care about discretion or security of their ops anymore, Jenny seethes internally, appalled that Vance would mention the criminal by name in front an interloper.

“No connection? She’s his daughter, for God’s sake!”

“I’m well aware of that, Special Agent Shepard. However, you’ve asked me to gamble an agent on a long-term undercover op where we can’t even say that the girl even sees the man more than once or twice a year, and has no involvement in his business. You’re asking DiNozzo to risk both his feelings and his life over nothing.”

Jen wants to snap that Tony can’t be in any danger if there really is ‘nothing.’

She really hopes Tony will never say anything about the fact that she’s already initiated a meeting between him and Miss Benoit. Jeanne is just too prime a bait to turn down. And there is no way Tony will anyway, not when Jen has pretty much written him a no-limit hunting license. The doctor is just his type – smart, beautiful, and malleable. He is the perfect person to seduce her and get her trust.

“I still believe it’s a viable op,” she says and then holds her peace. Vance won’t complain when she hands him La Grenoille on a platter.

~~***~~

As Jenny walks with Vance and the trespasser into the bullpen, DiNozzo stands up, an expression of utter shock on his face. McGee looks at Tony and then looks in puzzlement at the visitor.

“Lawrence!” Tony exclaims.

“Tony,” Gibson answers him calmly.

“I, uh, didn’t think you ever came to the States. I thought you were committed to your life over there.”

“There’s something that belongs to me here. I came to get it.”

“You know each other?” Vance asks.

“We met . . . briefly when I was in Saudi Arabia a few years ago.”

“Makes it easier then,” Vance says, clapping Tony on the shoulder and then walking away.

Jen hisses internally at his defection. Of course, he’s leaving her to sort out all the shit. And she’s pissed that Gibson showed up here planning to take DiNozzo anyway. His act with the files must’ve been just that – an act. He already knew exactly which agent he wanted.

“You’re being transferred, DiNozzo. Effective immediately.” Jen makes her voice sharp on purpose, letting him know that she’s not pleased. If he mis-reads that as him fucking up, then, so be it.

Hurt fills DiNozzo’s eyes, but is quickly masked. “Yes, m’am,” he murmurs.

“Working with me,” Gibson puts in.

Something else flares in Tony’s eyes then, but she can’t decide what it is. 

She tells him, “You’re being assigned to assist Mr. Gibson in his efforts on our behalf. The plan is to combine your resources with his local contacts in an anti-terrorist effort. In the Middle East.”

His eyes widen and she feels a sort of vicious triumph. Lawrence Gibson will have a hell of a time working with an uncooperative and recalcitrant Tony DiNozzo. And she knows that’s just how he’ll behave. Being sent to the Middle East after having made it to D.C. is a demotion in his eyes.

“Pack your bags,” she spits.

“It’s your option,” Gibson puts in. “You can say no if you want. I won’t take it personally.”

Jen relaxes a fraction. Of course Tony will say no, and then her op against La Grenoille won’t be jeopardized. Tony will never give up the comforts and opportunities that can be found in Washington, with its easy women and its luxurious lifestyle, for the sand and dirt of the Middle East. Especially not with a woman as tasty as Jeanne Benoit dangling in front of him. Tony and his priorities are ridiculously easy to judge.

“Do you have a DVD player?” Tony asks.

Gibson gives a faint smile of almost private amusement. “That can be arranged.”

Tony holds out his hand. “Then I’m in.”

She looks at her other agents. Kate’s face reflects the same confusion that Jen knows must be on her own. But the look on McGee’s face is utterly bewildering. He looks happy, which makes sense, because with Tony gone, he’s bound to be promoted. But he also looks smug and fond.

“Mr. Gibson,” she puts in. “Perhaps you and I should meet in a more conducive atmosphere to discuss the limits of this operation. Cabanas, perhaps? I assume you like Mexican?”

She’ll throw some pretentious words at the ignorant grunt, get him loose with some alcohol, and then use a little sugar to get him to change his mind.

“I think Agent DiNozzo and I can work it out ourselves.” Gibson digs into his pockets and pulls out a card of some sort, handing it to Tony. “I’m at the DuPont. I’ll meet you at the Café at nineteen hundred.”

She expects an argument from Tony at the man’s high-handed treatment, but he pockets the card without comment. Gibson nods and then walks towards the exit.

Jenny glares at DiNozzo. “Don’t you have things to do?” she hisses.

She turns to the rest of her team, who are staring at her blankly. Jen wonders if she can substitute McGee for Tony to reel in the pretty doctor. But, no. McGee is the same sort of woolly lamb that Jeanne Benoit is, and she won’t be attracted to him. The plan to trap La Grenoille is toast. She limps to her desk, feet suddenly feeling too swollen for her stupid shoes.

~~***~~

Tony stands with his back to the room, seemingly intent on the street scene below. Gibbs watches him carefully, wondering if he has gotten things wrong. Tony seemed glad to see him before, and they had talked easily over their meal. But dinner conversation had mostly been logistics and plans for their ops in the Gulf. 

At Gibbs’ suggestion of a drink in his room, Tony had agreed easily. Now that they’re alone, there’s a distance that has grown between them. He doesn’t know how to close it, and can only hope that Tony will give him a clue.

“It’s been nearly two years,” Tony says finally.

“Yes.”

“It was only four days. Maybe I moved on.”

“Did you?”

“No.” Tony turns around. “It shouldn’t be so important. It was only four days.”

Gibbs has spent many restless nights telling himself the same thing. That they couldn’t possibly have developed such an intense and complete bond in those few days. But the answer has never changed, not in thousands of times that he’s asked the question.

“It matters. To me.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

Gibbs understands Tony’s recalcitrance then. Tony is still hurting from their enforced separation. He knows he has a good explanation, but that won’t soothe the hurt, not in any place other than Tony’s head. The man’s heart would still be wounded. 

Two years ago, he’d relied mostly on instinct when the NCIS agent had been thrust into his life, and now his gut is giving him clear signals. Words aren’t going to be enough, so he reaches for a language that he and Tony both understand. He goes to the mini-bar and picks the most expensive bourbon. Pouring himself a glass, he settles into the club chair, stretching his legs out and draping his arms in a posture of utter relaxation.

“Strip.”

His voice is dark with a note of command, and Tony spins around, his eyes wide. He hesitates for a moment and then obeys without arguing. Jethro thinks that maybe he’s done the right thing. Tony takes his time, tantalizingly revealing his body, and Jethro appreciates that the man is trying to get some of his own back. He almost smiles, but manages to hide it. Tony folds his clothing carefully, setting the items on the dresser. The squared away Marine in Jethro approves of that too. 

When Tony is naked, he stands still, fists clenched at his sides.

“Turn around.”

Once again, Tony obeys sweetly and Jethro is suddenly coping with an erection that seems to want to burst out of his trousers. He looks Tony over carefully though, noting new scars here and there.

“Turn back. Parade rest.” He doesn’t know if Tony understands that command, but he figures anyone who’s gone through the police academy must have some idea.

Tony turns smartly, placing his feet as wide as his shoulders and putting his hands behind his back. Jethro is pretty sure he has the younger mans’ complete attention at that point. It’s his best chance to get Tony to listen to him.

“When I got your letter, I remembered everything. I guess all it took was hearing my real name.”

Jethro takes a sip of bourbon, letting his eyes drift over the handsome naked man standing in front of him. He doesn’t hide his appreciation and he notices that the look causes Tony to straighten his posture further. So willing, so responsive – he takes Jethro’s breath away.

“I had to cope with the loss of Kelly and Shannon. Didn’t matter that it had been years before. My subconscious had been stopping me from grieving but I still had to do it eventually.”

“I understand,” Tony says.

Maybe he does, but Jethro continues, needing to let Tony know all the business that has kept him from his side. “I wanted to track down the bastard that killed them, but I found someone else had taken care of him for me. Mike Franks, NIS agent.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Tony responds. “Legendary disregard for procedure. He quit after 9/11.”

Jethro shrugs. 9/11 is something he hadn’t known was in the works, and none of his contacts had any forewarning about what al-Qaida was planning. But he is damned if he’s going to let anything like that ever happen again. Tony is more than just a lithe and willing body in Jethro’s bed; he’s a shield that Jethro can use to protect the country of his birth.

“Also, I had two different lives to reconcile. Lawrence and Jethro.”

“Your father is still alive,” Tony offers.

But Jethro had made his decision about his father months ago. And he’s already let go of that relationship. His father is an old man; he deserves his peace. “He petitioned to receive my DIC benefits in ’99. I’m not going to deprive him of it.”

A small frown grows between Tony’s eyes. “I don’t understand. Once the VA knows you’re alive, it will revert to you.”

Gibbs takes another slow sip of bourbon. “They don’t know I’m alive. Bringing back Jethro Gibbs would involve too many complications. It’s easier to remain Lawrence Gibson.”

The frown grows. “But I thought . . . you can’t claim your medal as Lawrence Gibson.”

“What?”

“You said you came back for something that belongs to you. Your medal.”

“You think I . . .?” Jethro shakes his head at his own stupidity and Tony’s obliviousness. “On your knees,” he growls.

Tony looks startled but he does as he’s told. Gibbs circles around him, assessing. “Knees a little wider, don’t try to hide from me,” he snaps.

Watching Tony move into position wakes something fierce inside him. Jethro doesn’t exactly understand why he’s like this with Tony. From what he can remember of Shannon and other women he was with before her, they might’ve played friendly ravishment games, but never anything like what he feels with Tony. From the moment he first laid eyes on the naked NCIS agent bound to that post, his every instinct has screamed at him to take, to claim, to possess. Two years hasn’t diminished the feeling in the slightest.

Forcing himself to calm authority instead of anger, he says, “Rest your hands palms down on your thighs. Shoulders back and chest out. You’re beautiful; be proud of it.”

Tony keeps his eyes lowered when his body is arranged to Gibbs’ satisfaction. The man is graceful for being so tall and Jethro swallows, trying to wet his suddenly dry mouth. The power he has over Tony enhances the already heady effect of the man’s sheer physical attractiveness. Jethro would keep him naked and on his knees all the time if he could. Already, he can imagine Tony wearing proof of Jethro’s possession on his body. The slave boy get up that Tony once mentioned, maybe.

Shaking his head at his foolishness when he knows that he’s yet to convince Tony to come with him, Jethro clears his throat. “Agent DiNozzo, I want you to listen to me very carefully.”

Tony looks up then. “Yes, boss?”

“I don’t give two shits about any stinking medal, do you understand me? You signed that letter ‘yours’ and I’m taking you at your word. I came back here to get what’s mine and that’s you.”

Color flushes over Tony’s cheeks and his cock twitches at the words. Jethro breathes a little easier. If Tony’s turned on by the possessiveness in his statement, then there’s hope for them. He wants to touch Tony, to hear the younger man cry out, begging for mercy, begging to come, but they still have things to settle between them.

“Do you understand?”

Tony nods, a wide grin breaking over his face. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long, but . . . .” Jethro searches for the words to explain that he had to come to Tony in a position of power, not some poor jarhead who’s spent the last few years as the walking wounded. Neither of them would’ve liked that. And he doesn’t want Tony to leave in any sort of disgrace. Tony’s honor is just as important as his own. 

“I wanted to do this legitimately,” he finally says, knowing it’s not the complete story but hoping it will do until they get a chance to get settled. “That took a little time to get in place.”

“I . . . thank you.”

Jethro nods, and resumes his seat. He takes a large swig of his drink, relieved that he seems to have made Tony understand how important he is.

“Tell me about Jeanne Benoit.”

“You know about that?”

“Enough. Your Director hasn’t approved the op, but Agent Shepard doesn’t seem like that would stop her.”

“Yeah. No, it didn’t. I’ve met the girl. She’s beautiful and smart. A doctor. We have another date but it hasn’t gotten any further.”

“And it’s not going to. Call her and cancel it tomorrow.”

“Yes, boss.”

Tony’s cock moves again and Jethro smiles. The man likes taking orders, from him at least. His expression hardens as he thinks about how Jenny Shepard is willing to throw him at that girl without regard for his feelings.

“Do you have any other business you need to wrap up before you leave?”

Tony considers the question and then shakes his head. “Not of a personal nature, no. I just have to bring Tim and Kate up to speed on all my open investigations.”

“Good.” Jethro drains the Jack and sets the glass down. He can’t keep his eyes off of Tony, kneeling so patiently. Gibbs wants to rub his hard-on against Tony’s face, feel Tony’s mouth on him once again. It’s been too long for both of them. He drops his hand to his crotch, cupping himself.

“Hands behind your back.” He keeps his voice low and soft. “Knees wider.”

He watches Tony expose himself. 

“Farther apart.”

Tony complies, his legs straining, but as Jethro watches the younger man’s dick slowly fills. He squeezes himself, feeling his own erection respond. He wants to push Tony as far as he can handle.

“I like this,” Jethro gestures between them. “The way this is between us. I don’t know what you’d call it.”

He’s sure there’s some technical term for the kinks they seem to mutually enjoy, but none of the ones he’s familiar with seem to fit their behavior. Maybe all the years he’s lived in the desert and the authority he’s acquired there has left him with a taste for it in his lover. Or maybe something irreparable broke in him when Shannon died, leaving him with these impulses towards control. Whatever it is, Tony suits his needs perfectly and he suspects that he fills some deep desire in Tony.

“Power exchange,” Tony offers. “I give you mine . . . Or you take it.”

Jethro prefers that whatever power he gets from Tony be freely surrendered. But he can’t afford to take anything from Tony without understanding the consequences first. Not this time.

“Exchange? What do you get in return?”

“Security. Protection.” Tony swallows heavily. “You never forcing me to leave again.”

Jethro hides his wince. He supposes that he deserves that crack. His refusal to return to the States with Tony may have seemed like rejection to the younger man.

“Limits?”

“Those are usually negotiated between the parties.”

“Here’s my offer. I’ll decide the limits. If you have any concerns, you tell me. I’ll consider them.”

Tony says nothing, but he’s not arguing so Jethro decides that’s a good sign.

He reaches into the pocket of his blazer, withdrawing a small bottle of lube. “Catch,” he says tossing the bottle to Tony. The agent moves quickly and instinctively, securing the bottle easily.

“This is your choice. You can turn this assignment down and I’ll make sure the full responsibility for it falls on me, no career consequences to you. But I want you in my bed and in my life. Full partners. Helping me keep our people safe. But I’m going to take everything you can give me and then probably more than you imagined.”

“My way or the highway?” Tony asks, his lip curling slightly.

“Yes. And I’m warning you, if you agree, I want all of you. No holding back. If you try to keep something for yourself, I’ll take it anyway and punish you for trying to thwart me.” 

Jethro has no plans to sugarcoat his desires. Tony needs to be absolutely clear about what he’s getting himself into. Jethro stands up. “I’m going to the head to take care of couple of things. When I come back out, I expect you on the bed, lubed and ready to take my cock. Because if you’re still in here when I come out, I’m taking your answer as a yes, and I’m having your ass.”

“And if I’m not here?”

Jethro hides his pain at the idea. “No harm, no foul. You walk away clean.”

In the bathroom, he stares at his face, full of lines and creases. The scar distorting his hairline. He wonders what Tony will do, but he can’t afford to make assumptions about Tony’s desires. Not when he’s playing for keeps this time. Last time, Tony may have been acting out of fear, despite his appearance of a happy participant in their activities. Jethro won’t let their connection be about Tony’s captivity or any slight Stockholm syndrome he may have been feeling. This time, Tony has to make the choice without any coercion. 

He stops debating with himself and efficiently strips out of his clothes. Tony will agree or he won’t.

When Jethro re-enters the room, Tony is in a familiar position and Jethro’s groin tightens. Tony is facedown, with his ass up, and his hands clasped at the small of his back. His knees are wide-spread, giving Jethro a glimpse of his hole, pink and slick with lube. His posture is all about submission and acceptance. 

Jethro takes the offer without hesitation, sliding easily into Tony. When he bottoms out, he stops, taking a moment to simply appreciate the wonderful gift that the man below him has offered him. Jethro Gibbs may have lost everything that ever mattered to him, but Lawrence Gibson just got most of it back.

~~***~~

“What is it, Agent McGee?”

“Sir, if you recall, you wanted me to find out the truth about Lawrence Gibson.”

Vance spins around, his full attention on the younger man.

“And?”

“It’s pretty complicated and I’m not sure that I have the complete story, but I know enough to make some well-supported guesses. I hacked . . . .”

The Director holds up a pre-emptory hand. “I don’t want to know what you hacked.”

“Okay.” McGee gathers himself, seeming to sort a few things out in his head. 

“According to chatter, the Al Sa’uds have been aware of a rumor of a tribal leader operating out of the southern desert for several years. He appeared in the mid to late nineties, and while he to some extent unified the nomadic clans, he didn’t really do anything to cause alarm.”

“Really? I would think that those royal bastards would take any threat to their authority pretty seriously.”

“Unified might be too strong a word. They weren’t working towards any common goal, other than survival in the Rub’ al-Khali. The rumors where that this new leader was concentrating on civil projects mainly. Ways to find water, cheap fuel, that kind of thing.”

“All right. I’ll buy that.”

“Anyway, they left him alone, which may have been a mistake, because the story is that he gradually gained the respect of more and more of the tribes. It wasn’t until American troops started flooding the Middle East when we invaded Iraq that he took any sort of political stance – he became clearly pro-American.”

“No doubt the Al Sa’uds wanted him dead at that point. Are you saying that this man is Lawrence Gibson?”

“I think it’s possible. Saudi intelligence could never determine his name and while they sent several agents into the desert after him, none of them ever made a definite ID.”

“A bullet would’ve solved their problems.”

“Well, yes and no. Islamic culture has a history of holy men arising out of those sands, as you know. The last ten years have been very dicey for the Arabian government, what with us parked on their doorstep on and al-Qaida running around loose. The last thing the royal family needs is a reason for the desert tribes to stir up more trouble. The intelligence reports describe this man as charismatic and powerful. Killing him wouldn’t gain them anything but more headaches.”

“I see.”

“In any case, his operations haven’t directly conflicted with the al Sa’uds’ public policies. Their private anti-American agenda is at risk, but they can’t very well admit to that. We all know that they supported the 9/11 terrorists, but their diplomatic position requires that they cater to us or at least pretend to.”

“Why do you think this man is Gibson?”

“The timing fits, if nothing else. Gibson stayed over there after the Gulf War. But I think he was understating his involvement. I think he went all the way native, not just living as an ex-pat. And then there’s the description of him made by the only one of the Saudi agents who was able to see him – a tall man with icy blue eyes.”

Vance chews reflectively on his toothpick. “That is certainly apt for Gibson.”

“Yes. Something else too – he stepped up his activities right after Tony was in the area two years ago.”

“So he could be the mysterious source of DiNozzo’s intel. The one he refused to identify.”

“I think it’s probable.”

“It appears that we have an ally where we least expected it.”

“I believe so. They call him a sheikh, you know. It’s not a hereditary title like European nobility. It used to be awarded to very wise and scholarly men. But in modern usage, it’s become a term of respect for any powerful leader.”

“Okay. I agree that he’s this mysterious tribal organizer. What about Gibson’s background before the Gulf War?”

McGee looks down at his hands. “That’s some of the things you said you didn’t want to know.”

The Director considers what his agent is and isn’t telling him with that statement. “Tell me, Agent McGee, do you consider yourself a friend to Anthony DiNozzo?”

“Yes, of course I do!” McGee’s tone is emphatic.

“Then, in your professional judgment, after having carefully examined all the data available to you, is Agent DiNozzo in any danger from this Lawrence Gibson?”

A smile breaks over McGee’s face. “No, sir, I believe that considering Tony’s line of work, Agent DiNozzo is as safe as he can possibly be with Lawrence Gibson.”

“And does Lawrence Gibson pose any threat to these United States?”

“No. My research indicates that he’s a patriotic man who unexpectedly found himself in a position to aid us.”

“Very well. I trust that you’ve made no written copy of any of your findings and that you’ve covered your trail electronically.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This conversation never happened.”

“Already forgotten.”

~~***~~

Starlight glitters faintly on the shining desert sands as the men move together. Their cries break the stillness of the night, but only the night birds are near enough to hear them. Eventually they pull apart and the weak light catches the sheen of sweat on their bodies.

“ ‘anaa walaa ‘anta,” one of them says, the guttural harshness of his language softened by the gentle night. His voice barely carries through the still air, but it is intended for only one pair of ears.

The other smirks roguishly, and quotes one of the more famous lines in all of cinema, “I know.”


End file.
